Tag: Mitch Colby

Holy crap! It’s been a month since I had a chance to post anything. Time flies when life is full and busy. I have managed to squeeze in a little time writing a few match descriptions for the new release of BG East’s catalog 128. So even if you don’t know it, you very well may be reading some of my writing in that format. As so often happens with big pauses in my blogging, I’m now facing a backlog of intentions and plans. I’ll do my best to backfill, but hot new wrestling releases wait for no blogger.

Superhuman Mitch Colby

With that in mind, I want to describe the sweat soaked pleasure it was to watch one of my longstanding obsessions climb into the ring again in the new release of Ringwars 29: Steeped in Sweat. Honestly, all it took was watching Mitch Colby stretching before the match to get me dizzyingly aroused. Over the years we’ve seen Mitch in various states of fitness. There is no version of him that fails to turn me on, mind you, but in RW29, he is mind bogglingly gorgeous, primed and pumped, tanned and toned, with mile wide shoulders and an impossibly narrow waist like Clark Kent at a day at the beach.

You can afford to be chill when you look this hot!

There’s something coolly majestic about Mitch. I suppose if you look like he does, and you’ve hammered your rockin’ muscles so sweetly out on your 6’2″ frame, you can afford to be chill as fuck. He’s self-possessed and confident, this side of cockiness. I always get the impression that Mitch wants a challenge. He gets a little contemptuous if it’s too easy. Mitch appreciates serious competition. He wants to prove himself.

Jobe Zander and the Centerpiece

“Serious” is not a word that jumps to the front of the line when Jobe Zander struts into the ring room. Fuck, I hate this guy. And by hate, I mean, fuck, I ache to see someone beat the living shit out of him and strip him naked. He’s always a contender for biggest bulge in the business. And he enthusiastically puts his most prominent feature forward in every match, calling attention to “the Centerpiece,” and taking every opportunity to shove his massive package in an opponent’s face. Jobe is loud and over the top and almost comical, which is clearly his modus operandi. He struts and barks and presents himself almost as a caricature of the narcissist pro wrestler, invariably disarming his opponent who struggles to take him seriously.

Jobe uses Mitch as a doormat

Do NOT fail to take Jobe Zander seriously! Mitch learns what most of Jobe’s opponent’s learn. Underestimate him at your peril. He takes it to the beach body beefcake with authority, and I love watching Mitch struggling to dig himself out of a hole. Even before the low blows and dirty tricks take over the narrative, Jobe quickly outhustles my fitness model infatuation and works him over like a boss.

Jobe has him exactly where I want him!

As is almost always the case, inexplicably, it’s Jobe who’s first to attack his opponent’s balls. I’ve got all sorts of feels about watching him claw the fuck out of Mitch’s bulge. First and foremost, just getting a feel of what Mitch is packing is a vicarious thrill. In particular, this reach through the legs from behind with a subtle twisting chaser is as if I’m remote controlling Jobe. Mitch, with his glistening, superhuman muscles quivering in agony and whimpering, is a work of art. But I’m also rolling my eyes at this move because you know, for a fact, what happens next when Jobe, possessing arguably the most massive crotch in competition, flings open the door of crotch attacks.

“What’s wrong, can’t take your own medicine?”

That shit just got real, now, didn’t it, Jobe? I’ve been taken to task before for crushing hard on a classic babyface disciplining a vile heel. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I want to see an earnest, magnificently muscled jock slap a loudmouth cheater down and make him regret it all. I know, I’m such a mark. When I’m pounding one out in ecstasy watching Mitch make the previously cocky bad boy weep and beg, I don’t give a shit. These two hunks can manipulate me any way they want.

Inspect the Centerpiece

Jobe make SUCH a huge deal of his HUGE deal, it’s no wonder that, yet again, this match really becomes all about “the Centerpiece.” He shoves it in Mitch’s face. He demands that the hunky heart throb pay homage to the legend that is straining the seams of Jobe’s pouch. “The tide has turned, Mitch the Bitch,” Jobe snarls down atop the schoolboy pin, smothering Mitch in his ball gag. “I’m the Centerpiece here,” he monologues like a Batman villain. “Nothing can stop me now!”

“Centerpiece this!”

It turns out, a 6’2″ fitness competitor in the best shape of his life can, actually, stop Jobe Zander. Mitch milks the babyface retribution to perfection. He scolds Jobe mercilessly for his greed and self-centeredness. He punishes him brutally, employing all of those stunningly gorgeous muscles to accomplish the task of dominating and destroying this quite serious competition. It’s not as if it had to go this way. It’s not as if Mitch is, by his nature, hell bent on humiliating and bullying an opponent. He’s just cashing that check that Jobe’s been writing all along, piling on complete domination to not just beat him, but to disprove every taunt and brag and unnecessary act of poor sportsmanship along the way. “How about that for a Centerpiece,” Mitch demands to know, resting his balls on Jobe’s chin and anointing his own big bulge the new title holder.

Mitch SCREAMS!

There are a lot of familiar components to this match, if you’ve watch many of Jobe’s more recent bouts. But there are a few delightful innovations in this pairing that I have to mention. One such innovation is that Jobe makes Mitch scream. I mean, really scream. Mitch typically is the type to screw up his face and put a cork in it when he’s suffering hard. Agony paralyzes and gags him most days. But when Jobe really cranks on his balls, crushing and twisting and dragging him around the ring by them, Mitch lets loose with some crotch tingling screeches of pain. Fuck, I love that chink in the muscleman’s armor.

Peekaboo

The other notable part that I want to mention is all the trunk pulling. It’s like Mitch knows how much I’ve been wanting someone to finally rip Jobe’s trunks off and show us what the heel has been teasing for years now. That doesn’t quite happen, despite my longing. Nor does Mitch bend him over the top rope with Jobe’s anaconda in his hand and Mitch’s manhood up Jobe’s round ass. But both wrestlers give us peekaboo glimpses of the underworld, dragging each other around by a fist full of trunks and showing off just a little of the astonishing beauty both men criminally cover up with their gear.

Sexiest bearhug of the year?

Mitch’s bearhugs are sexy as fuck. If watching his gargantuan deltoids flex and swell as he crushes his wailing opponent suspended a foot off the ground doesn’t get you off, then it is a complete enigma to me why you would read this blog.

Babyface revenge

This match pushes a ton of my buttons, so if we share any buttons, I recommend you tuck in. My infatuation with magnificent Mitch has only grown with his latest display of his power and beauty. If the wrestling gods ever bother to hear our prayers, then please, oh PLEASE, let’s see Mitch pit his mouthwatering muscles again another longstanding infatuation of mine, Scott Williams. That would be the headliner match to the “Masters Division” matches I’ve been fantasizing about for so long now.

The first half of the BG East Besties ballot never seems to generate as much controversy as the second half. Turning our focus on individual wrestlers seems to incite even more fevered debates about tastes and types and loyalties. BGE has gone six deep for each category, so there’s bound to be someone for everyone to fight over. Definitely don’t just take my word for who you should vote for, but by all means, vote. And in case you aren’t sure who you want to rally behind, feel free to take some inspiration from how I see things.

8. Top Heel

Last year Jonny Firestorm brought home the title as Best Heel at BG East. Jonny has owned this category for quite a while. The only time he hasn’t won, he wasn’t nominated, in which case Kid Karisma stepped up at grabbed the ring. This year pits these two legendary heels against each other and an equally diverse field of styles, attitudes, and interpretations of the word “heel.”

Cole Cassidy

Jonny Firestorm

Lane Hartley

Kid Karisma

Kayden Keller

Kid Vicious

What a field! I’m punching an enthusiastic button for the increasingly rare opportunity to vote for the legendary heel, Kid Vicious. Although he only appeared in one product this year, it was classic KV, through and through. No one else on this list takes nearly as much erotic pleasure making an opponent suffer. My second choice would see Kayden Keller jump the line ahead of both Jonny and Kid Karisma. Kayden has become one of the hardest working wrestlers in homoerotic wrestling, and like KV, he’s growing increasingly comfortable in the role of the erotic sadist. I’m guessing that the popular vote may still break Jonny or Kid Karisma’s way, and obviously they deserve the heel-appreciation. But as for me, KV remains in a league of his own, with Kayden quickly filling the void left by KV’s sparser and sparser appearances in the ring.

9. Top Babyface

The field for top babyface highlights how these awards reflect so much more about the fans than the wrestlers. Some of these guys I wouldn’t classify as babyfaces. Past winners like Biff Farrell and Jake Jenkins are as absent from the poll as they were scarce in new releases this year. So one of these guys is going to take the title for the first time:

Gil Barrios

Mitch Colby

Kirk Donahue

Richie Douglas

Payton Meadows

Zip Zarella

As with the heel category, I’m picking a dark horse candidate for as much sentimental reasons as anything else. Mitch Colby epitomizes the erotic-forward babyface that can only inhabit the world of homoerotic wrestling. His epic dismantling of the legendary heel Cage Thunder demonstrates perfectly the distinction that I think so many fans struggle with in distinguishing between a hot jobber and a babyface. And as his opponent has acknowledged, Mitch was in the best shape of his life for that match. I do think it’s criminal that Christian Taylor did not make the ballot. If pressed for a second place, I’d probably go for Richie Douglas. I’m uncertain what character type Zip Zarella is growing into, but he could easily get my vote for top babyface or top heel with a couple more matches under his belt to signal his underlying moral compass. This category seems wide open for predicting a popular vote getter, but I’m thinking things could swing Richie or Mitch’s way.

10. Jobber of the Year

There’s some serious range in interpretations of a jobber among the field for Jobber of the Year. Last year’s winner Ty Alexander is back in the offing, despite his pretty decisive heel turn this year. In fact, I think at least of couple of the nominees this year lack that inevitability about them that I expect to see in a jobber. Take a look at what I’m talking about:

Ty Alexander

Trey Dixon

Kirk Donahue

Charlie Evans

Drake Marcos

Van Skyler

On the one hand, I do love watching Kirk Donahue get his awardless ass beat again and again. But honestly, the perfect depiction of a jobber is Drake’s match trying to reinvent himself as El Favorito. El Favorito is Drake’s acknowledgment that he’s a jobber, that he’s destined to get plowed under, despite his impeccable skills. Perhaps with a new name, Drake muses that he can start over as something other than a jobber. And then Thrash thrashes him like the jobber he is, in or out of a mask, under any name. If I were a betting man, I’d guess that Ty, despite openly acknowledging on tape that he is no longer a jobber, may take this again because… social media.

11. Debut of the Year

There was some insane, out of the blue drama a few months back with last year’s Debut of the Year winner, Beauxregard. The category is, by no means, a guarantee of success or respect. In some ways I think Ty Alexander may be the exception when it comes to parlaying the Debut of the Year award into a solid BGE career platform. Beaux, Kip Sorell, Eli Black… it may be possible that this is a “peaked too soon” award for most (though, of course, I’m always hoping to see Eli elevate his BGE game). So this year’s nominees should beware, take nothing for granted. Winning Debut of the Year is, at best, just the start of your hard work on the way to success. The newbies who should heed this warning include…

Ace Aarons

Ash DeLeon

Bruno LaBestia

Steve Mason

Toney Rico

Zip Zarella

I’m a huge backer of most of these guys, so this is another tough call for me. When push comes to shove, I’m casting my vote for one of the classiest acts to jump over from indy pro success, Ace Aarons. Ace had the skills to turn the stink bomb of Luke Lonza into a relatively satisfying squash, because he took seriously what Luke apparently couldn’t. I’m particularly impressed with his most recent mat match, laced with tons of sweat and lust, with fellow nominee Ash DeLeon. An indy pro who successfully translates his skill set to the mat and to an erotic text is quite an impressive debut, indeed! A second place pic for me would be a close call between Ash (who suffered from having only one match published for his debut year) or Zip Zarella (who classes up the place like Ace, but without the erotic twist).

12. Best Abs

2017 provided a feast for six-pack lovers. Last year’s winner Chace LaChance failed to make the cut, and personally I think it’s largely because the competition was so spectacular this year. Also absent were previous award winners Z-Man and Eli Black. So this is another category where someone new is guaranteed to take home the trophy this year. The possible breakout abdominal stars are…

Carter Alexander

Devon Britt-Darby

Mitch Colby

Richie Douglas

Kid Karisma

Payton Meadows

Everyone’s a winner in this category, but when I cast my ballot, I’m going to vote for Payton Meadows. Every inch of Payton is dazzlingly gorgeous, but his abs are exceptionally ripped, balanced, and abs-olutely beautiful. Please, please, please let us see more of him (in every sense of the word) next year. His releases are far too far in between. Second place for me this year is, astonishingly, not Kid K. It was Carter Alexander’s superhuman core that was the standout star of his squash against Kayden, and as I said earlier, his side tat screams for worshiping his sweaty eight-pack. Playing the odds, I’d guess that Richie Douglas could take the title in the popular voting this year, though I never count out Kid K.

13. Best Bulge

After years of there being one standout each season for best bulge, this is suddenly one of the most competitive categories. Last year’s winner, Kirk Donahue, is back to defend his title. Mr. Joshua, who wasn’t nominated last year but has owned the title more often than not, is back in contention. Cage Thunder’s throbbing rod not only blazed to full glory, but got used and abused by his babyface nemesis. And then there was the collective gasp throughout the homoerotic wrestling world when Steve Mason’s debut revealed one of the biggest power tools I’ve ever seen. The full slate looks like this…

Ace Aarons

Kirk Donahue

Joshua Goodman

Steve Mason

Cage Thunder

Jobe Zander

I’m sticking with Mr. J in this year’s vote. His bulge continues to be so huge that it gets in the way of his wrestling. He continually has to adjust the packing. It walks into a room about 5 seconds before Mr. J does. And Cole Cassidy managed to display Mr. J’s legendary bulge from entirely new angles this year. I’ve got my eye on Steve Mason’s leviathan, though. I think there’s a chance I might be in the middle of the normal curve this time, and the popular vote might also swing to Mr. Joshua, though I wouldn’t be surprised to see Steve knock the competition out of his way with that billy club of his.

14. Best Butt

This is always one of the most hotly debated categories. I’ve already seen a certain nominee launch a full scale social media campaign to finally take home this trophy after coming in second place last year. Here’s who you get to pick from…

Ty Alexander

Gil Barrios

Kirk Donahue

Kid Karisma

Noah Samson

Van Skyler

I’m more ambivalent about my vote than in past years, but honestly, who am I kidding? I’m voting for Kid Karisma’s phenomenal glutes again. They’re perfect. Magnificent, functional muscles resting atop those massive upper legs. Damn. A second place for me would be either Ty or the epic last minute debut of Noah Samson. Holy fuck, Noah’s ass is unbelievable. Not as tightly muscled and powerful, but aesthetically a work of art. I keep expecting Ty’s social media campaign to pull the rug out from beneath Kid K’s long ownership of this title. Perhaps this will be year Ty can sway a majority of voters to take their eyes off of Kid K’s glorious ass.

15. Best Body

I was so thrilled last year, after years of promoting the obvious physical perfection of Kid Karisma, that I was finally joined by a majority of voters. This year’s field is, as always, hot competition to try to wrest this oft-traded title away:

Carter Alexander

Mitch Colby

Richie Douglas

Kid Karisma

Payton Meadows

Van Skyler

For my vote, this is a horse race between Kid Karisma and Peyton Meadows. I’d give Payton the edge for his pecs and abs, and Kid K the advantage for arms and shoulders. But the balance of power tilts on Kid K’s full, muscular leg development (including the often overlooked calves). So I’m inclined to, once again, worship at the feet of Kid K as the Best Body at BG East in 2017. Just to confirm my evaluation, I’d love to see these two physical specimens side by side… and then on top of each other, pounding into each other, squeezing, shoving, and grinding each other. As for who the popular vote will tilt toward, I most frequently guess this one wrong. But my (probably wrong) guess this year is that it will go to Kid K or, perhaps, Van, though I do think Payton is slowly accumulating an audience of gasping fans (in addition to me), with the slow trickle of his new releases over time.

This was a spectacular slate of nominees, and I’m not just saying that because I was on the nominating committee. In fact, several of my top choices changed as a result of seeing the official ballot and being reminded by other nominators of choice contenders that deserved a second look. In the coming days, I’ll keep reflecting on categories that aren’t reflected on the official ballots, but matter a lot to me. In the mean time, give your best argument (respectfully) for your votes in the comments below.

Like I said, I was underwhelmed by the October new releases, so I’ve foregone naming a Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month for that month and am doubling down on November. The first winner was my running favorite homoerotic wrestler who can’t stop winning my infatuated fanaticism even if he tried, Kid Karisma. My other HWOTM is also a long time infatuation and a perennial friend of this blog. Kid K’s co-HWOTM is none other than…

Motel Madness 14 represents the culmination of what has to be one of the longest, hottest, most misdirecting sell in homoerotic wrestling history. It’s got to be close to a decade since Cage started harassing me about my fawning adoration of Mitch Colby. As soon as I’ve said a complimentary word about Mitch over the past 10 years, like clockwork Cage has popped up in the comments section to tell me that my fawning over Mitch is misplaced fanaticism. “Bitch Colby,” Cage has persistently misidentified him, tauntingly calling him a pretty boy whose victories only come when he’s picking on a wrestler much smaller than he is. All flash and no substance. Couldn’t handle a real man. “The bloggers waxed euphoric about his physical perfection, his skills, how he filled his trunks,” Cage commented in a recent post on his blog, clearly rehearsing his eye rolling contempt for this blogger’s Mitch-lust. On and on, Cage has been calling Mitch out with a pointed fervor that I don’t think I’ve seen from one wrestler to another in social media, and certainly never sustained for such a long time.

Cage is one of the most successful heel’s in BGE history for a reason.

I’d actually heard this match was in the vaults for some time, and I was perplexed by the odd juxtaposition of Cage’s raging trash talk and what appeared to have been embargoed evidence as to whether Cage has what it takes to back up all of his withering insults to Mitch’s magnificence. I actually heard through the grapevine that part of the problem was that Cage “forgot” to wear his mask for this match, and once unmasked, it’s hard to sell a masked heel in future matches. Whatever the extensive behind-the-scenes drama was, I tucked in with relish to watch all of that salivating, snarling contempt from this heel dig its claws deep into one of the prettiest, most babyfaced babyfaces in the business.

Cage shows Mitch what he thinks of all of those gorgeous muscles.

As I’d expected, when Cage is on offense, he’s fierce as fuck. He writes in another recent blog post about the curiosity of wrestling unmasked, and I have to say, it’s oddly disconcerting/provocative for me to watch as well. He’s more handsome than I’d have guessed. Almost pretty, in fact. I almost forget at times that this is Cage Thunder. And then he knees Mitch in the balls, punches his pecs beet red, and folds the muscleboy up and makes him choke on his bulge, and there’s no mistaking it. This is Cage Thunder. “What do you say, muscleboy,” he taunts, quite literally spanking Mitch’s gorgeous ass. Sitting on his face and driving his fists into Mitch’s meaty pecs, he asks rhetorically, “So, Mr. Bodybeautiful, how does that feel?” Yep, that’s Cage Thunder. It’s delightful watching his look of ecstasy when he’s working over his dazzlingly pretty nemesis. We don’t quite get to enjoy that side of the equation when he’s masked.

Twisted Cage

But even more provocatively, Motel Madness 14 gives us a glimpse at Cage caged. Agony twisting his face. The clear look of panic as he realizes that Mitch’s “prettyboy” muscles very well might just crack one of his ribs. We’ve seen Cage hurt before. It’s relatively rare, because he’s such a dominant heel, but it’s happened often enough to remember. But unmasked and undone by the fitness model he has been deriding for a decade, I can’t imagine how much less satisfying it would have been if he’d endured this muscleboy reckoning from behind his mask.

Mitch demonstrates that his gorgeous muscles are not just for show.

Read Cage’s blog and you’ll see that he’s suddenly soft pedaling his extremely well-documented taunting dismissal of Mitch, and now that this climactic end to a decade-long feud is available for public consumption, it’s clear why. Mitch Colby fucking owns Cage Thunder! A suddenly philosophical and contemplative Cage reflects in the pages of his blog about his undoing. It may have been that he was outmuscled. It may have been that he was just too turned on by the “overhyped prettyboy.” It may have been because he felt oddly out of step without his mask on. I’m sure all of the above excuses that Cage offers are true enough. But whatever may have been behind it, I can tell you one thing for sure: Mitch makes Cage his bitch!

Who’s the bitch now?

I mean, Cage Thunder gets buried under! This would have been a humiliating loss even if Cage hadn’t been talking shit about Mitch for years. As it is, it’s shockingly debasing. Cage chokes on Mitch’s bulge repeatedly. He’s “forced” to kiss Mitch’s mountainous biceps in complete subjugation. It’s less that Mitch beats him, and more than Mitch herds him like a sheep to the slaughter, patiently grinding Cage down to raw nerves and shattered illusions.

Cage succumbs to Mitch’s beauty.

I guess, honestly, I am surprised that Cage was so handily manhandled, even by the likes of by longtime babyface hero Mitch. But I’m downright shocked that a conquered Cage is so completely played by his own unmistakable lust for this man of muscle crushing him. All of Cage’s snide comments about how pretty and without substance Mitch is echo through my mind as I watch Cage’s eye’s lustfully soak in the sight of Mitch’s mighty muscles pinning him to the mattress. I’d honestly have thought Cage would have been hating himself right around the time he was lapping like a dog at the deep crevice between Mitch’s pecs, burying Cage’s face. By the look on his face, he’s not hating anything right around that time, though.

Cage Thunder can’t disguise what Mitch’s muscles do to him.

This is definitely not the first time we’ve seen Cage get ramrod hard by the heat of battle, but this is the first time I can think of when you can watch his cock visibly stiffen in his trunks the more brutally he is being dominated. I’ve long known that Cage Thunder is erotically stimulated by beating another man into submission, but I honestly had no idea that he’d rise to the occasion of having a babyface muscleman put him in his place.

Cage doesn’t exactly seem disappointed to lose to Mitch.

I think it’s entirely possible that Cage Thunder’s well-known inside track with The Boss could have been what kept Motel Madness 14 under wraps all these many years. If that were the case, I can only guess at what it may signal that his complete undoing at the hands (and pecs and legs) of Mitch Colby has been released anyway, and Cage’s epic downfall publicly documented. But I also think it’s entirely possible that Cage Thunder just played the longest running fan con in the history of homoerotic wrestling. I’m certain that well after this match was taped, Cage was still trashing Mitch in the comments section of this blog. He was still selling that heel contempt, that total trashing dismissal of one of the prettiest boys in the business, well after he and Mitch knew full well that he got owned by the gorgeous muscleman. And in the end, the dramatic reveal is just that much tastier for the real audience of Cage’s relentless call outs of Mitch over the years: you and me.

Cage adores Mitch’s muscles every bit as much as I do!

This would have been a crowd pleaser of a match, even if Cage had not been selling the hype for ages. But because he has been selling the hype, because he had built up the expectation of a classic muscleman destruction at the hands of a dominant, erotic heel, this match became downright legendary the moment I set eyes on it. At the end of the day, it’s clearly evident that Mitch is deeply satisfied by the results of this motel match. And there’s no mistaking the enraptured pleasure playing out across Cage’s unmasked face (and naked cock) as he settles into to that supremely rare feeling of being crushed into complete submission. And for everything on camera and off, for one of the hardest working heels in homoerotic wrestling, this match gets a standing ovation and a shower of my euphoric adoration, not to mention earning Cage Thunder a well deserved second title as Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.

I went to college at a very, very small liberal arts school with a very, very unsuccessful Division III football team. They sucked. A lot. Literally, years went by without a single victory. Not that I was involved in the program, but it was no secret that recruiting for the football team was a major bitch. No scholarships. No pro career prospects. Very little hope of ever tasting victory before they graduated or, even more likely, they’d burn through eligibility while hanging on by the skin of their teeth to skimming by in their academics and finally just walking away to dig ditches. Our football team literally shrunk while I was enrolled in college, each year’s freshmen getting smaller, while bigger players went elsewhere. My junior year, the football team recruited a wide receiver who was, I kid you not, 5’2″ tall. Thing is, though, he was fucking fast, with big, powerful thighs, an exceptionally stellar muscled ass, and gorgeous, Tom Cruise-ish good looks. Despite their abysmal record, I suddenly took an interest in football that year.

This pint-sized wide receiver with big league glutes and a baby face starred in many a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Just writing about him now is making me hard. There was just so much fabulous potential wrapped up in his tight, taut, petite jock body. In the never ending erotic wrestling tournament in my head, the little wide receiver inevitably got muscle bullied around the ring by bigger guys. I always pictured him getting picked up and thrown from corner to corner. Tall, ripped, cocky hunks (typically from our extremely successful and wildly popular basketball team) would, in the no holds barred wrestling matches in my collegiate imagination, deliver a barrage of high impact, high altitude power moves on him, gorilla presses, scoop slams, one-handed choke slams, spine-tingling suplexes that catapulted his magnificent, muscled ass from corner to corner.

Rereading my interview with Charlie Evans and perusing several of the comments to that interview remind me of that hot, gorgeous little wide receiver firecraker with a supremely fuckable ass. As I’ve mentioned several times lately, the difference in size itself became erotically charged for me. But far beyond just visuals, I crushed hard on the little stud because of the drama of a vastly undersized hottie audaciously running out onto the field and climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination (through the bottom two ropes, of course) and staring fearlessly up at the overwhelming odds towering above.

5’7″, 150 lbs Bolt stares way up at 6’2″, 265 lbs Brute in Custom Series 33 from Thunder’s Arena

I was relatively agnostic about my all-time favorite wide receiver’s win-loss record in his homoerotic wrestling career in my mind. Like the very best babyfaces, he was always dangerous and perpetually vulnerable at the same time. I distinctly remember him getting his jock strap ripped to shreds and having his rock hard muscle cheeks plowed hard by a particular, hot, muscled black power forward. I also have clear memories of him turning the tide on a certain aloof, blond, aristocratic shooting guard who was schoolboy pinned and force fed the beer can cock of the smirking, flexing wide receiver. Win or lose, he was a favorite object of my homoerotic wrestling imagination not despite his stature, but because of it. And not just because of his stature, but because of the inherent drama of an ambitious, earnest, hard working little stud throwing himself headlong at the big boys.

As I told Charlie, I continue to nurture a crush for David vs. Goliath homoerotic wrestling matches. I like big vs. little matches where the differential is massive, the odds are long, and the action is brutal. I love seeing audacious little studs hoisted over head and pounded into the mat. I love seeing them take every ounce as brutal an assault as any heavyweight and then keep peeling their battered, petite, bite-sized bodies off the mats and defying the big boys demanding that they submit in body and soul.

While I don’t care for many matches in which one competitor is just furniture, getting moved and manipulated and owned effortlessly, a match in which a seriously undersized wrestler is defiantly sucking down a mountain of abuse is in a squash-class of its own for me. If the little guy walks in with his head up, clenches his jaw in the face of fate, and demands respect by just surviving a magnificent beating, I will so get off on that just like I did when I staged wide receiver getting his sensational ass tagged in the middle of the ring by that power forward.

However, I think my hardest David vs. Goliath fantasies flip that script with a vengeance. When the audacious little underdog battles back against the barrage of muscle and mass, now that is fucking hot. When he starts accumulating riding time on a thoroughbred 50 pounds bigger, my adrenaline pumps into overdrive. And when I pictured my pretty little wide receiver slapping down a big, cocky all-American who’s never tasted defeat before, when he wears the big boy the fuck out, slapping that beer can in Goliath’s shocked, humiliated face, then little David is fucking king of my world.

I hold heartedly agree with the implication of Charlie’s argument that every homoerotic wrestling roster needs the little guys. Ever roster needs the underwear models and the bodybuilders. Ever roster should have raw edged street punks and square jawed All-American heroes. They should all have daddy’s little rich boys and ripped, raging, beautifully endowed sex brawlers. The industry should invest in recruiting hard edged pros and hot, inexperienced nerds. It should put up flat footed pornboys and fierce, lanky, long-distance runners. Personally I’m longing for a snarling radical fairy doing battle with a white collar stock broker on the homoerotic wresting down low.

The homoerotic pro wrestling industry is as susceptible to the tyranny of the capitalist market place as anything else, of course, so I certainly understand when, occasionally, it seems like everyone climbing through those ropes looks and moves and suffers alike. But as someone who has watched a TON of homoerotic wrestling (not even counting that running channel in my imagination of round the clock homopro), I’m always longing for producers to fill those niches Charlie and I talked about. Tickle those erotic fantasies we didn’t even know we loved. Populate our screens and imaginations with the great diversity of dramas, bodies, races, ages, etc., that makes oppressively straight real life bearable.

And most definitely, gives us pint-sized baby face heroes audacious enough to climb into the ring with beasts a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier, and to tell us a compelling, seat of our pants, crotch-tugging homoerotic wrestling drama that reflects real life writ larger, more erotic, and completely improbable, but yet, speaking to our real lives.

Chip Slater has a love/hate relationship with his face in Patrick Donovan’s crotch in Undagear 5

I’m sure I’ve mused about this hold before, but I’m too lazy to look it up. So I’ll probably repeat myself when I say that my heart pumps harder in my chest when a straight forward pro wrestling story suddenly introduces face-to-crotch scissors. If you buy that all of pro wrestling can easily be read as an extended homoerotic innuendo, face-to-crotch sort of slaps down the implied erotic subtext and steps at least one toe over the line into straight up homoerotic text.

Mitch Colby is about to pop with Cole Cassidy trapped between his thighs in Ringwars 15

How wrestlers carry it off, of course, can significantly add to eroticism. I suppose it’s possible to snap your thighs around another man’s head with that up close look at your balls in his face and it be solely about punishment and wrestling victory. But I love watching a wrestler snap shut that bear trap and then enjoy it, openly, luxuriantly, expansively. When someone on the delivery side of this hold pumps his glutes and shoves his hips forward with a little enthusiasm, when he milks the moment with pulsing flexed muscles beating out a morse code of agony from the gasping grunts of his opponent, when he stares down his own hot body and smiles at the sight of his opponent owned and getting primed for sucking cock, when he closes his eyes and leans his head way, way back and that look of an impending orgasm washes across his face, there’s nothing coded about this. This is hot, homoerotic wrestling gold.

Rick the Prick looks like he’s struck gold with Joshua Goodman’s legendary bulge in his face in Ringwars 12

The catcher can certainly connect the dots as well. Regardless of who ends up on top after all is said and done, I love it when a captured hunk’s eyes roam hungrily up and down his captors body above him. He doesn’t need to, but if he stretches his hands up and strokes those crushing thighs, the rippling abs, stretching so far as to palm the bulging pecs of his tormentor, it conveys what I’m silently thinking deep inside at that moment. A smothered grappler doesn’t have to, but if he’s man enough to nuzzle the balls bearing down on his face, fuck, maybe even open wide and give the trickster’s treats a hearty lick, it just puts the exclamation point on what this hold conveys from the start: wrestling persistently implies homoerotic intimacy.

Charlie Evans makes the most of the rare standing face-to-crotch headscissors at the mercy of Steel Muscle God in Oil Hunks 8 (MDW)

When the camera angles and storytelling are just right, face-to-crotch headscissors shine a spotlight on one man’s bulging package, bringing his entire, tasty physique into the mix, making even that swelling muscle of passion a part of the corporal domination of another man. For me, it isn’t even so much about the oral sexual implications, as much as it signals that every magnificent inch of a wrestler’s hot body is engaged in dominating his opponent. Hell, when wrestling companies choose to transition from explicit wrestling to explicit sex, I typically push rewind. Because what’s getting me off is the homoeroticism of the wrestling, not the wrestling as foreplay for sex.

Rio Garza cannot handle Aryx Quinn in BG’s Bad Boys

I suppose it isn’t such a far distance between why I’m such a fan of face-to-crotch headscissors as I am a fanatic for my favorite pro wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker. Both draw my eye to one wrestler’s bulging package. Both center the frame on the outline of a bulging cock and the ballast of balls. Both seem ripe with the erotic potential marrying gay sensibilities and a pro wrestling kink. Both make my pulse pound in anticipation of what happens next to, or with, or on behalf of one wrestler’s swollen pipe.

So much erotic passion led up to this moment of Mitch Colby smothered by Brook Stetson’s sweaty pouch in Sunshine Shooters 4.

I sometimes find it ironic that this blog attracts so many visitors thanks to the still frames I include, because it’s the story in and around any one captured slice of time in a wrestling match that tantalizes and titillates me. It’s not any one frozen image that becomes the perfect muse to my erotic imagination, but the drama played out in motion, the slow contraction of muscles, the arching agony in a lower back, the quivering pouch, the writhing feet futilely kicking the mat. I’ve lately talked in terms of “the moneyshot,” meaning that moment in a match at which point I’m likely to climax, but that moment is about the 1,600 seconds before that led up to that moment, the deepening jeopardy of one man, the swelling confidence of another, the bodies growing wet with sweat over time, the veins swelling and pumping harder with blood from the effort and the adrenaline of competition. I get off plenty to face-to-crotch headscissors, but I’m never just getting off to face-to-crotch headscissors.

If there is one valuable analog of face-to-crotch headscissors, I think its the comfort a wrestling company has with the homoerotic eye of their gay audience. In scanning for face-to-crotch headscissors images across several platforms for this post, I found them concentrated in just a couple producers’ catalogs. And I think they play a part in direct proportion to how explicitly companies market to those of us in the audience tuning in and ponying up because we are sexually turned on by wrestling. Of course, face-to-crotch headscissors aren’t the only way of crossing the line from homoerotic subtext to homoerotic text. Hell, they probably aren’t even the best way. But from a strictly correlational perspective, I think they show up in proportion to how much I (at least) perceive of a producer as appreciative of and comfortable with me, as a gay man, watching their wrestling products as a means of sexual gratification.

So probably a close second as my favorite wrestling hold is face-to-crotch headscissors, because when they’re done wrong, they can reveal a whole host of troubled self-hatred bubbling beneath a veneer of nohomo bravado, but when they’re done right, I feel respected as a gay wrestling fan, drawn into the intimacy of homoerotic combat, and turned on hard.

Having recently moved, I’m getting accustomed to a lot of new things. The weatherman keeps reporting on “thund-uh-stoams.” There are apparently 100 ticks for every human being in the region. And it’s fucking hot.

That last part makes me rethink my decision to ignore places with swimming pools in my housing search when I moved here a month and a half ago. I’ve always thought of pools as a pain in the ass. And, honestly, this climate calls for outdoor pools no more than about 25% of the year, so it seemed like a waste. But damn. It’s fucking hot.

I’m sure I’ve posted here about my ambivalence about the swimming pool genre in homoerotic wrestling, but I’m too lazy right now to look it up for you (did I mention how hot it is?). So let me just reiterate. On the con side, pool wrestling too often submerges more than half of the available eye candy. Upper bodies are privileged as the only thing we can see most of the time (and neglecting attention to hot legs is another, more global complaint I make often). There’s probably about 80% of wrestling holds that just don’t translate to a pool. A Boston crab would likely lead to manslaughter charges.

But on the other end of the ambivalent spectrum, I love wet muscles. On that point, sweat, shower scenes, and oil wrestling tweak the same kink in me that pool wrestling does. There’s also something inherently playful about pool wrestling. Watching homoerotic wrestlers do it, it certainly appears to take many of them back to the same days of juvenile, carefree summers getting yelled at for horsing around in and around the pool, playfully bullying chums by seeing who can dunk the other, games of chicken, perched on top of each others’ shoulders and seeing who can topple whom.

Kid Vicious demonstrates how standing headscissors take on a whole new significance in the pool in Wet & Wild 4

While I couldn’t stand an exclusive diet of homoerotic wrestling in the pool, like fresh corn on the cob and the sweetest of watermelons, it’s a seasonal treat that can work for me. Though I have to say I prefer it to conclude with bronzed bodies baking in the sun, making out naked poolside.

A very special bonus to prattling on and on about homoerotic wrestling the way I do is that occasionally, like a gift from the homoerotic wrestling gods, some magnificent hunk who has inspired my wrestling musings contacts me. Truth be told, it happens more than you know, because about 50% of the time those wrestlers decline my invitation to say something on the record, in their own words. But the other half of such cases are open to letting me toss some questions their way and to share their answers with the readers of this blog. Happily for you and me, bruising beefcake heel daddy Brook Stetson is in that second half.

Brook stumbled across neverland and found my adoring mentions of him, including when I named him one of my homoerotic wrestlers of the month five years ago for his work working over my long-time wrestling crush, Mitch Colby. We chatted a bit before we went “on the record” for the following interview. Amid so many pretty boys and twinks that get acknowledged on these pages, Brook wasn’t sure he was likely to rank high for neverland readers. Honestly, I found this completely confounding, because… well, fuck, LOOK at him!!?! And if you’ve ever seen Brook wrestle, you know that his brand of raw, rough, powerful, dominating, lustful grappling is precisely what this blog is all about. In any case, what follows is the delightful conversation that unfolded.

Bard: Brook, thanks so much for agreeing to take some questions! I think you have one of the most distinctive looks in all of homoerotic wrestling. Sort of classic cowboy meets comic book superhero (or villain). What heritage produces that phenomenal physique and hypermasculine jawline?

The chin that hits back

Brook: I’m a full on mutt, I have a little bit of everything in the family tree if you shake it out hard enough. I guess on the plus side there is the old adage amongst breeders that mutts are stronger than pure breeds. I used to be teased in the military, being called Clark Kent, when I wore standard issue glasses. I was Blockhead in high school, university, and the Tick and American Dad, since.

Bard: I could see all of those. I was guessing a mix. Maybe a bit of Greek god, Roman god, Norse god, something like that. You’ve definitely got a face for stopping traffic.

Brook: Well, it is a very hard chin. It has been known to hurt those who land a punch on it.

Bard: I bet! So when you contacted me, you shared what I think may be the best compliment ever. After reading some of my blog you said that I “get it” when it comes to writing about your kink. Can you talk more about what “it” is?

Bull in a China Shop

Brook: That my wrestling, even when just “straight” wrestling, has a combat subtext of primal control, domination, and assertion of sexual superiority. I get off on the emotional, intellectual, and physical struggle of it all. I’m one twisted fuck [laughing].

Bard: Call me “Pretzel,” then, because that makes two of us twisted fucks. I’ve seen a lot of your matches, and I’ve often found myself thinking of you like a force of nature, like the pounding tide or a gale force wind: irresistible and irrepressible. How would you describe your wrestling style?

Bard: I haven’t seen the Chance Caldwell match but I love him! I have to look that one up. I greatly enjoyed your matches with Skrapper, Tony and your Mitch match was award winning on my blog. How does your wrestling in private compare with what we see that gets published?

Brook: It’s more primal privately. For the camera you have to leave space and time for the camera to follow and capture the shots. I rarely allow that much airspace privately [laughing]. Shooting a match for video is difficult for me because I tend to let my instinct take over and can forget to stay on script. I’m not naturally submissive or tame so I have to really try to capture those traits when needed.

Suffering for long is not something that comes naturally to Brook

Bard: How much direction do you get when you’re taping a match for public consumption?

Brook: Surprisingly, not a lot. I’m pretty lucky in that most of the companies recognize a certain level of skill and chemistry I have with my opponents and let it play out mostly. Usually the direction is slow it down or cheat the shot more towards the camera. I just completed a couple for Naked Kombat where they literally said, you guys just go for it and we’ll try to keep up. Now that was fun!

Bard: You wrestled for NK? Damn, now I’ll definitely have to resubscribe. As an avid consumer, the experience for me is intensely intimate, just me watching anonymously as you and your lucky opponent tear into each other in the illusion of privacy. But it’s obviously not that private on your side of the camera. Is the crew behind the scenes distracting?

Brook: Those two matches were done with the minimum crew to get a great shot, but they had a lot more than I’ve had in the past to allow the match to really proceed as naturally as possible, the only reason I agreed. That and the fact that they offered me some choice beef and I was a hungry mutt [laughing].

Bard: Sounds fantastic! I can’t wait. When you have your pick of choice cuts, what sort of beef do you like sinking your teeth into?

Brook: I’m pretty omnivorous. It’s just got to have a lot of fight in it or I sate to fast and lose interest.

Bard: Clearly you like to play with your food. Fuck, I’m getting hungry. I’ve always wanted to tell you that I think your ink is sensational. The color is stunning and the artwork looks amazing. And I love where it travels around your gorgeous body. Is there any special story about it?

Brook: I knew I wanted it and the placement to be where I could show it or hide it depending on the shorts I chose, etc. I found an amazing artist in NYC shortly after the ban on tattoo parlors had been lifted, since WWII. He had a place in the Hotel Chelsea, I used to go there and hang out and soak up the local color and history of it and we met. He was able realize in ink what I had in my head and 49 hours later (after several sittings), voila.

Voila!

Bard: It’s incredible. The way it curls around your thigh and up your back brings wrestling to my mind.

Brook: Thank you, that’s very kind.

Bard: So you possess such a distinctive look- do you ever get stopped by guys who recognize you from your wrestling?

Outstandingly good, but not too good to be true

Brook: I haven’t ever be recognized on the street. I have been recognized on some of the wrestling match up sites. It usually works against me though and it’s assumed I am a fake profile. So it works against me more than for me, lol.

Bard: I could understand guys thinking you have to be too good to be true. But oh, the cruel irony if they pass you up! Have you ever done any pro style ring wrestling?

Brook: I have, I really enjoy it. It’s fun bouncing boys and myself off the ropes.

Bard: I could easily see you in the ring! There’s something about a pro ring that makes everything larger than life. I hope we see you in the ring for public consumption sometime. So what’s a typical gym workout for you?

Brook: I try to do a split work out, four days on, one day off. I’ve really been concentrating on my cardio lately so it’s five days a week. Now cardio can of course be various things from running to throwing down on the mat, I try to keep it creative.

Bard: Yeah, I can think of a lot of fans, including me, who’d love to be part of that cardio! What does a typical date with Brook Stetson look like?

Brook: Old School. Something where we can actually speak and get to know one another. A meal is good, walk on the beach, a fun activity like go-carting, hiking. Never shy away from some sort of physical activity. I want to get to know the person, test chemistry, and compatibility. A kiss or several is a must, everything is built from there. If it’s sub par, it’s never going to happen. It’s something that is ingrained and instinctual, it cannot be taught.

Kissing featured in Brook’s early career Sex Wrestling 3 match for Zeus with Dane Tarson.

Bard: Even though it can’t be taught, I feel like taking notes and studying diligently. I definitely feel like the kiss is make or break. And guys not into kissing need not apply. Have you ever dated someone you’ve wrestled?

Brook: Yes, both on camera matches and off.

Bard: That sounds like a ton of sensational chemistry, if things are firing on the mats and on one of those dates you described! Are there any wrestlers you haven’t had a crack at that you’d like to meet on the mats?

Bard: Woof, WOOF! That’s a damn fine list! A little something for everyone. I’ve had a hard spot lately for some heel on heel match ups, so so many of those would scratch that itch so good! And don’t even get me started on how hot I’m getting thinking about you digging in deep on some of those pretty boys. Yum! I’d pay double for pretty much everyone of those match ups. In addition to the upcoming NK shoots, are we going to see you hit the mats on camera more in the future?

Brook: If the right cuts of meat are dangled and I’m hungry, yes!!!

Bard: Well, I just happen to have a couple hunks from your top pick list on speed dial, so I’ll be letting them know immediately that they are on the menu! For all of us twisted fucks with a Clark Kent erotic wrestling fantasy who have keyed into your brand of brutal physical domination, anything else you’d like to say to your avid fans?

Brook: On the mats, in the ring, or in life. Stay hard, ready, and real. And don’t forget…..I’m also just a guy, standing in front of a man, asking him to wrestle him [laughing].

Bard: [Laughing] I can guarantee that as long as you keep wrestling like you do, there are a whole lot of us who will stay incredibly hard. And if you keep paraphrasing Knotting Hill to such perfection, you’ve got a lock on another Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month title as far as I’m concerned. Thanks for being open to doing an interview!

Brook: I still think you are overestimating my appeal, but you’ve been incredibly kind and flattering. It’s been a lot of fun and very thought provoking. Thanks a lot, Stud.